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I'll send the feather from my Hat!
Who knows—but at the sight of that
My Sovereign will relent?
As trinket—worn by faded Child—
Confronting eyes long—comforted—
Blisters the Adamant!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- So much of Heaven has gone from Earth
- My First Well Day—since Many Ill
- Of Yellow was the outer Sky
- Wert Thou But Ill—that I Might Show Thee
- They Won'T Frown Always—some Sweet Day